The Deadliest Foe
by gammadolphin
Summary: The shot that took Mac down was a through-and-through. Painful, but not life-threatening. A few days later though, that changes. Tag to 2x15: Murdoc & Handcuffs
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** I've been a fan of the new MacGyver show for a while now, but this is my first fic for the fandom. I've often found myself disappointed by the missed opportunities for hurt/comfort, so this is my attempt to rectify that a little. Enjoy!_

* * *

Four days had passed since Murdoc put a bullet in Mac's shoulder. Three days had passed since Jack brought Mac home from the hospital to a warm reception from their friends. Two days had passed since Murdoc kidnapped his son and disappeared into the wind. One day had passed since Jack went to work without his partner. Almost an hour had passed since Mac's last phone call to try to "help." Which meant that any minute now…

Jack reached for his phone on the first ring, shaking his head.

"You know, paid time off is something most people appreciate," he told his partner without preamble. "It's like a free vacation."

"Yeah, getting shot has been a real party," came Mac's dry answer. "How's the case going?"

"Oh, you know, I actually just found something I thought you might be interested in. Oh, here it is: it's a note from your doctor saying that _you were shot and need to rest_."

"Very funny. I wasn't shot in the head, Jack; my brain still works fine. I can help from here."

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Listen, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but the rest of us are actually pretty good at our jobs. We can get by without you for a couple days."

"Oh, so you found Murdoc and his kidnapped child? That's impressive."

Pulling his phone away from his ear, Jack scowled at the device. Realizing the futility of that, he raised it again.

"We're working on it," he said.

"Has he killed anyone besides the assassin teacher yet?"

The reminder made Jack check his computer screen with a grimace. He'd been reading the report on the grisly murder when Mac called. Murdoc seemed to have taken his time with the poor SOB.

"Not that we know of," Jack said. "Now, will you please - please, for me, as your partner - act like a normal human being and go back to enjoying your week of freedom so that I can get back to wading through this psycho's body trail?"

There was a little more grumbling, but Mac hung up with a reluctant promise not to try sneaking into Phoenix the next day.

Jack ended up working late that night. Despite his assurances to Mac, they weren't making much progress with the Murdoc case. To make matters worse, the body of another assassin had turned up, mutilated and abandoned in a no-tell motel a couple miles outside the city.

There would be more. Jack had gotten a better glimpse into that whackjob's head than he'd ever wanted to, and it'd been enough to convince him of that. Murdoc may have seemed calm and steady, but the guy had a vindictive streak a mile wide, and he didn't seem like the type to make empty threats. He'd keep killing the people who'd wronged him until he got caught or killed, or he finished.

Jack went out to the crime scene himself with Bozer, and by mutual, unspoken agreement, they returned to Phoenix and stayed there. It was long after the end of the business day, but Jack couldn't forget Murdoc's weird obsession with Mac. He wouldn't feel comfortable about his partner's safety until the assassin was back behind bars. Or, preferably, under six feet of dirt.

Despite their efforts though, the night didn't turn out to be very fruitful. The following day was little better, and by the end of it, Jack knew he needed a break.

It required no thought at all to set a course for Mac's house, rather than his own apartment. It was only when he was almost there, when he was finally switching out of work mode, that it occurred to him he hadn't heard from Mac all day. Not even a snarky comment or a poorly disguised attempt to get involved in the Murdoc investigation.

Jack frowned as he turned onto the sloping street that led to Mac's house. Something didn't feel right about that. Mac hated being left out of shit, and he'd been a near-constant pain in the ass since his injury. It was one of the ways Jack had known he was doing okay.

The harsh lessons of experience sent a sick feeling of unease creeping through Jack's gut. He'd thought home was the safest place for Mac to be, but how many times had he been attacked there? Jack should never have left him alone there for so long.

But Jack also had a long history of worrying over nothing. There was as good a chance that Mac had just been resting per Jack's request, and refraining from the constant check-ins out of consideration for his partner.

Even as he convinced himself he was overreacting, Jack still couldn't help but take the last half mile to the house a little faster than he should have.

Mac's car was still there, but that didn't necessarily mean much. The car had been there when Mac was kidnapped from his own home, and when they'd both been locked in the house with a giant bomb rigged to blow them to hell.

Despite his best efforts, Jack was really working himself up now. He ran to the house and let himself in, not bothering to knock.

"Mac?" he called, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice so as to avoid earning himself undue mockery later. "You there, buddy?"

He didn't get an answer, but as he stepped further into the house, he saw why.

Hands braced on his thighs, Jack bent over and let out a long, heavy breath. He shook his head, chiding himself.

Mac was lying on his couch, bundled in blankets up to his chin and sound asleep.

"You're gonna give yourself a heart attack, Dalton," Jack muttered to himself, backing out of the living room and heading for the kitchen instead.

Mac, Riley, Bozer - hell, even Matty accused him of being too much of a worrywart. They teased him about it, told him he needed to ease up before he gave himself more grey hairs.

That was easy for them to say. None of them, bless their young, bright-eyed souls, had seen the kinds of things he had. They'd never suffered the kinds of losses he had, never been burdened with the kind of guilt that could crush a person. Mac perhaps understood the best, but even his perspective was a little filtered, existed on a smaller scale.

Not that Jack would've wanted it any other way. He would give anything to shield his teammates, his family, from the kinds of burdens he carried, even if it meant enduring their teasing.

As his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm, Jack dug around in the fridge, rooting out a can of beer and a container of dip. After extracting a bag of pretzels from the pantry, he returned to the living room and flopped down into an armchair. He settled in, planning on staying until Mac woke up and kicked him out, or he had to go back to work, whichever came first.

He was in the middle of using his newly-issued replacement phone to check on his fantasy football team when he shot a casual glance at Mac.

That was when he realized just how many blankets Mac had managed to gather around himself. The kid looked like a burrito. Which had been funny at first, but it was now dawning on Jack that he himself was sitting comfortably in a t-shirt, the ambient temperature of the room hovering somewhere in the mid-seventies.

Setting aside his snacks, Jack got to his feet and approached the couch, drawing closer to peer down at his friend. His stomach dropped.

Mac's cheeks were flushed an unnatural pink, but the rest of his face was sallow and ashen, coated in a visible sheen of sweat. Jack reached out, and could feel the heat radiating from Mac's body before he'd even made contact.

Jack was no doctor, but he knew this wasn't normal.

"Mac?" he called, peeling back three layers of blankets and cupping his hand behind Mac's neck. "Rise and shine, buddy. Can you hear me?"

When he got no response, he gave his partner a light shake.

"Mac!"

The combination got a result this time, such as it was. Mac's eyelids fluttered, and he let out a moan, turning his head away from Jack in an instinctive attempt to avoid the noise. The reaction didn't give Jack any sense of relief. Not when it told him just how out of it his partner really was.

"Hey, come on now," Jack coaxed. "I know you like the sound of my voice, don't even try to deny it. Look at me Mac, come on."

He still had a hand at Mac's neck, and he could feel the racing flutter of a pulse that was far faster than it should've been. Mac groaned again, trying to curl deeper into the couch, away from Jack. His breathing was audible, a rapid, rasping sound Jack should've heard earlier.

Gut curdling with a nasty suspicion now, Jack reached for the hem of Mac's MIT t-shirt, pulling it up to expose his torso. He let out a low hiss, and then a few words he'd learned in Delta for good measure.

The area around Mac's wound was an angry, inflamed red. The bandage over the wound was stained pinkish yellow, and Jack recognized the distinctive smell of infection. He swore again and reached for Mac's face, cupping it in his hands and turning it towards him.

"Mac!" he yelled now, tapping sharply on his cheek. "I'm not playing around here; open your eyes and look at me, man."

Fear made his voice sharp, and cloudy blue eyes blinked open at last to look at him. They didn't make Jack feel any better. There was no recognition in them, no spark of the life and intelligence that usually lit them.

"Whassuh..." Mac groaned, his voice a mumbling slur. He tried to squirm away from Jack's grip with zero success. "Sl-ppp."

"No, you're not going back to sleep. You hear me, Mac? Keep your eyes open."

But Mac didn't listen.

Bozer saw the distinctive flashing lights of the ambulance before anything else. He gave them a look of passing curiosity as he drove closer, wondering if one of the neighbors had suffered a heart attack or something. Most of his and Mac's neighbors were older, and it wouldn't have been the first time. If that were the case, he'd have to be sure to make something for the family.

But as he drew closer, he saw that the lights belonged to an ambulance parked in his own driveway. And he knew.

"Mac."

Bozer damn near forgot to put the car in park before scrambling from it and running towards the house. A thousand different thoughts raced through his head during the short trip. Had Mac been attacked again? Had Murdoc returned for him?

He reached the door just as it was swinging open. He backpedaled, arms flailing, just managing to get out of the way of someone in a crisp uniform backing out onto the front step, pulling-

"Mac!" Bozer said again, louder and more urgently.

His best, oldest friend was lying motionless on the stretcher, a fogged oxygen mask over his ghostly face, his eyes closed and sunken. Bozer reached for him on instinct, but he was already gone, the EMT and paramedic rushing him to the waiting ambulance.

A half-second later, another familiar figure followed them out the door.

"Jack! What happened? What's wrong with Mac?"

Evidently unwilling to stop, Jack grabbed Bozer by the arm and towed him after Mac and the ambulance crew.

"Did you talk to him today?" Jack demanded, rather than answering the questions.

"What?" Bozer's shocked, alarmed brain couldn't make sense of the question fast enough for Jack, and the older agent tightened his grip, shaking him.

"Did you talk to Mac today?" he repeated, more forcefully now as Mac's stretcher was loaded into the back of the ambulance. "Did you check in with him at all?"

"I texted him this morning, but nothing since then. Jack, you're scaring me. What happened to Mac?"

Seeming to realize what he was doing, Jack relinquished his grip on Bozer's arm and took a step away from him, reaching for the bridge of his nose instead.

"He's sick, Boze," he said, voice quieter now, but pained. "His wound, it got infected."

"Oh. Man."

Bozer stood on the balls of his feet, as if it would allow him to see through the tinted windows in the back doors of the ambulance. He didn't know too much about medicine, being a bit squeamish around blood. His near-fatal stabbing had given him some painful exposure though. He remembered the doctors and nurses checking his wound every once in a while, to make sure it was still healing properly, with no infection. But he didn't see how an infected gunshot wound would lead to Mac being unconscious and loaded into the back of an ambulance.

"He was fine this morning," Bozer said, a bit numb.

"Being able to text doesn't mean fine," Jack said. He probably didn't mean for it to sound like an accusation, but Bozer flinched nonetheless.

Jack headed for the side of the door of the ambulance, climbing inside. Bozer went to follow, but then stopped. He told himself it was because he didn't want to crowd the ambulance crew, but truthfully, he didn't think he could stand seeing Mac like that again.

So he was still standing there a minute later, when the ambulance rumbled into motion, its lights still flashing and its sirens starting to wail. He was still standing there, watching as his best friend was carried away from him to an uncertain future.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Hope you like it so far! I'm afraid it's gonna get worse before it gets better..._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for the great response so far! You've made writing for the MacGyver fandom a pleasure :)_

* * *

The text from Bozer had been brief and alarming: _Mac 911_

Now, less than twenty minutes later, Riley was striding through automatic doors into a gust of air conditioning that made her shiver. She turned a corner and found herself in an ER waiting room she wished she didn't know quite so well.

A quick scan of her surroundings found Bozer sitting in a corner by a fake potted tree. Riley headed for him at once, even as her blood chilled at the expression on his face. He stood when he saw her approaching.

"What happened?" she asked, reaching out to grasp him by the shoulders. She'd tracked his phone to the hospital, but hadn't wanted to waste time searching for any additional information.

"Mac's shoulder got infected."

Riley frowned, her nose wrinkling.

"I got an infection when I had my wisdom teeth taken out," she said. "My mouth puffed up and it hurt like hell for a few days, but the doctors treated it and it was no big deal. If that's all this is, what's with the 911?"

"I don't know, it was more than that," Bozer said. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, so he crossed his arms over his chest. "Mac...I only saw him for a second, but he was unconscious. He looked...bad, Riley."

The way his voice cracked at the end told her just how rattled he was. Her momentary relief faded.

"Where's Jack?" she asked. "Does he know?"

"He's the one who found Mac. He rode with him in the ambulance, but I haven't seen him since. He's probably still back there with him."

Riley nodded, forcing herself to think. She'd brought her laptop with her, and she considered hacking into the hospital's system so she could check Mac's file. But if he'd just gotten here, there wasn't likely to be much available. Still, his intake form would be able to tell her more than Bozer had.

Before she could make up her mind, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway to the ER proper and began to approach.

Jack looked like he'd just been hit by a truck. His face was pale, his eyes wide and a little dazed. Riley and Bozer went to him at once.

"How is he?" Riley asked. Jack shook his head, glancing out over the rows of chairs in the waiting room.

"They don't know yet," he said heavily. "They had trouble waking him up, and then he was real out of it. Didn't know where he was, what was happening…" His voice trailed off, hollow.

Riley peered at him. He was scared, she realized, just as scared as Bozer. The knowledge made her heart clench in her chest.

"I don't understand," she protested. "I mean, why...? What could do this? I get that his shoulder might be infected, but - I mean, not being able to wake up? Major disorientation? That sounds more like poison, doesn't it?"

Part of her hoped it was. Poisons had antidotes. Mystery illnesses didn't.

Jack grabbed her by the shoulders, looking at her with a new spark in his eyes.

"It does sound like poison, doesn't it?" he said. "Hell, Mac's been poisoned like that already this year. Riley, you're brilliant. Call Matty; have her send a team out to Mac's house. They need to sweep it top to bottom for something that could've done this. And tell her to double down on the search for Murdoc. If he's behind this, he might still be in the area."

Nodding, Riley pulled out her phone to comply. Bozer and Jack talked quietly while she spoke to Matty, who promised to dispatch a team to the house right away.

Once the call had ended, Jack led Riley and Bozer into the ER. It was set up in a rectangle around a central station for the doctors and nurses, the walls lined with patient rooms. Jack led them into room 8, but it was empty when they entered, without even a bed in it.

Remembering what Jack had said about Mac being taken away for testing, Riley sat down to wait in one of the padded blue chairs against the wall. Bozer took the second one, and Jack paced back and forth in front of them.

Unable to stand the tense silence, Riley extracted her laptop from her bag and began hacking into the hospital system. It took less time than it should have, and she made a mental note to beef up their security later. She pulled up the file that had been created for Mac years ago, and clicked through to find his most recent information.

His intake form listed a set of vitals, his personal information, and a brief report taken from the paramedic who'd brought Mac to the hospital. Wading through the medical jargon she barely understood, Riley scanned the report for something she could make sense of.

Her eyes froze on the screen. After a long second, she tore her eyes away to look up at Jack.

"He had a seizure?" she whispered. Bozer stiffened beside her.

"He what?"

Jack rubbed a hand over his face, not looking at either of them.

"In the ambulance," he said, voice low and rough. His gaze was haunted as he glanced behind him at the spot where Mac's bed should've been. A long second dragged by, and then another. "They gave him something to stop it."

The silence that followed was thick and stifling. Riley's gut was roiling, her whole body cold.

She'd seen Mac two days ago. Just two days, and he'd been his usual vibrant, cheerful self. Sure, his arm had been in a sling, but it hadn't made him miss a beat. Hell, he'd been teasing Jack for worrying about him. How had that vital, healthy young man ended up seizing in an ambulance?

She put a hand over her mouth, blinking eyes that stung.

"Hey, hey, none of that, now." Riley looked up to see Jack crouching before her. He put one hand on her shoulder and used the other to sweep a stray lock of hair out of her face. "You know Mac, he'll be fine. He always is. He's probably already awake again, trying to turn the MRI machine into a refrigerator."

He gave her a small, encouraging smile. It might have made her feel better had she not known him too well to miss the monumental effort behind it, the fear still lurking in his eyes.

Still, it wouldn't do any of them any good to fall apart before they knew anything. So she made herself nod and give Jack a tremulous smile in return. She nudged her elbow into Bozer's side until he nodded too.

"Yeah," he said. "Mac's come through worse than this. He's probably...he's probably telling the doctors how to make brain surgery more efficient, or something."

They managed to keep up the exchange of jokes for a few more minutes, but it wasn't long before their forced good spirits dried up and they lapsed back into grim silence.

Of course, there was never really silence in an ER. Riley could hear the quiet chatter of nurses and doctors, of patients and their families. She heard the managed commotion of a new patient being brought in through the ambulance entrance; apparently some college kid who'd partied a little too hard and was puking his guts up. She heard a doctor telling someone that the fracture wouldn't need surgery, and that he could go ahead and put a cast on there. He heard someone trying to wheedle their way out of a blood draw.

Twenty minutes had crawled by before Riley heard the sound of footsteps right outside the door though, followed by the rattle of the privacy curtain being drawn back.

"Dr. Brown," Jack said before Riley had even turned around in her seat.

He rushed towards the stout, white-haired woman in navy scrubs that had appeared in the doorway. She held up a hand to fend off the questions she could no doubt sense coming, and glanced at Riley and Bozer.

"Riley Davis, Wilt Bozer," Jack said, pointing at them as he said their names. "They're good friends of Mac's, and they can hear whatever you have to say about him."

As Mac's medical power of attorney, Riley supposed Jack had the legal right to make that decision, since Mac...couldn't.

"All right," Dr. Brown said. "We're still trying to isolate the exact problem, but I've admitted Mac for further testing and care. He'll be moved to the ICU once his scans are finished."

Hearing 'ICU' was like getting kicked in the chest. Riley shot a quick glance at Jack, who had paled again.

"Hey, listen," he said. "We were thinking, if you still don't know what's wrong; there's a better than iffy chance Mac was actually poisoned. We're working on finding an antidote, but if there's something you could do to, uh, hurry the process along on this end…"

Dr. Brown's eyebrows had risen a bit, but she displayed little other reaction to the theory.

"A basic toxicology panel is already in the works," she said. "But from what I've seen, and what you've already told me, I think Mac's existing wound is the more likely culprit."

"You mean the infection?" Jack asked. "Okay, so can't you just, you know, give him some antibiotics, add water, wait for results?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Dr. Brown said gently. "Mac was already on antibiotics as a precaution for his shoulder, which means his infection has likely been caused by an antibiotic-resistant strain of bacteria. I've ordered a much more aggressive course of antibiotics, and some tests to try to isolate the strain, but it's his symptoms in the meantime that concern me."

She paused, and Riley crossed her arms over her abdomen, trying to brace herself for whatever was coming next. She found herself instinctively leaning towards Jack, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Are any of you familiar with a condition called sepsis?" Dr. Brown asked. When Jack and Bozer shook their heads, she launched into what sounded like a practiced explanation. "It's a class of infection that's associated with a disproportionate inflammatory response. Its symptoms vary and are extremely unpredictable. Among other things, sepsis can cause problems with blood flow and organ function, including the brain."

"Which is why Mac..." Bozer began, but trailed off, apparently unwilling to put into words what had happened to his friend.

"I believe so," Dr. Brown said with a nod. "Again, this can't be confirmed until a few more results come in, but this is the assumption we're working under. Sepsis is unfortunately very common, although less so for someone Mac's age. Now, sepsis doesn't always affect the brain, but I think Mac is experiencing what's called sepsis associated encephalopathy, or SAE. There are a lot of theories about what causes SAE, but we don't have a great understanding of it yet, which means we mostly have to manage symptoms while we treat the underlying infection."

"Okay, but...I mean it's not fatal or anything, right?" Jack said. "You can treat him?"

"We can and will treat him, rigorously," Dr. Brown said. "But I won't lie to you; sepsis can be fatal. About a quarter of a million people die from it every year in the US alone. The fact that Mac is showing signs of SAE is especially concerning."

Riley felt as though the breath had been sucked from her lungs.

"Look, Doc," Jack said. "All due respect to your medical expertise, but I've got Mac expertise. He's tough; he's gonna make it."

"I certainly hope so," Dr. Brown said, not seeming to take offense to the confrontational tone. She was probably used to it. "Mac does have youth and previous good health on his side. But I'm afraid that even if he does survive, he'll likely still suffer from some permanent consequences."

"What kind of consequences?" Riley asked, finding her voice again for the first time since the doctor had entered.

Dr. Brown sighed, focusing on her.

"Remember how I said the causes and symptoms of sepsis are complicated and unpredictable?" she asked. "That goes for the lasting side effects too. At this point, any outcome I predicted wouldn't be much better than a blind guess."

"Worst case scenario, then."

"It's way too early to think about that kind of-"

"I'll just look it up anyway," Riley argued, lifting her chin.

Dr. Brown pursed her lips, but said, "Worst case scenario, assuming Mac lives: he suffers permanent organ and brain damage."

"Bullshit," Jack barked into the sudden silence. The other three jumped, startled by his vehemence. He might have felt worse about scaring them, but he couldn't think about much besides what the doctor had just told him. "Bullshit," he repeated, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Not Mac. Not our boy. No way."

He looked to Riley and Bozer, waiting for them to back him up. Mac couldn't suffer brain damage; he was _Mac_. His brain could run circles around every other brain in this hospital.

But Riley's dark eyes were wide and shining with unshed tears, and Bozer looked like he was already thinking through a future without his best friend.

"Jack," Dr. Brown said, her voice low and gentle.

He flinched away from her as if she'd slapped him, and shook his head. Mac would prove her wrong. He'd prove her wrong like he'd proven so many others wrong. Until then, what did it matter what she thought his chances were? Besides, there was still a high likelihood that Mac had been poisoned, and Matty would be calling them any minute now with the name and its antidote.

Clenching his fists, Jack did his best to rein himself in, not wanting to get thrown out of the hospital for making a scene.

"We need to see him," he said, his voice at a more acceptable volume now, although still tight with strain.

"I'll have one of the nurses take you to his room, although he may not be there when you arrive." The doctor opened her mouth as if to say something else, to try to convince him to start accepting reality, but then she switched tacks. "Mac's care is being transferred to another doctor, now that he's being admitted. Dr. Rein has more experience with cases like this, and he'll explain things to you in more detail. He's very good at what he does, and he'll make sure Mac has his very best chance."

And with that, she seemed to have washed her hands of them. After bidding them farewell and expressing her good wishes for Mac, she disappeared to see to another patient, leaving behind three people whose worlds had been shaken to the foundation.

The trip through the winding halls of the hospital was a bit of a blur for Jack. The only reality was Riley's hand in his, and he gripped it tight as they followed a nurse who looked like she wanted to be there about as much as they did.

Jack's whole body felt like lead, but also charged with useless energy. There was a band around his chest, keeping air from getting in.

He'd seen Mac in a whole range of conditions. He'd seen him drunk, drugged, exhausted, giddy, even broken, bruised, and bloody. But he'd never seen Mac in the kind of condition he'd been in strapped to that ambulance gurney.

 _He's seizing_ , the EMT had said, her voice still modulated and professional but that much more urgent than it'd been a moment before. The words had been like a spear of ice stabbed into Jack, and he'd twisted around in the front passenger seat they'd made him take, straining for a glimpse of his partner. All he'd been able to see was the paramedic's uniformed back though, hear the orders he barked at the EMT.

So lost was he in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize they'd stopped moving. He looked around, and realized they were standing outside the sliding glass door of a patient room. The privacy curtain was drawn back far enough to show that Dr. Brown's prediction had been incorrect; Mac was in there.

Letting go of Riley at last, Jack hurried into the room. He faltered at the threshold, thrown a little by the sight of his partner lying icy pale and motionless among a nest of wires and tubes. He didn't slow for long though, and soon he was leaning over Mac's bed, reaching out to clasp his good shoulder.

"Hey, buddy," he said, keeping his tone light. "I don't think all the beauty sleep in the world's gonna help you, so why don't - Mac?"

He'd been so prepared for Mac to be out cold that it was almost a shock to see familiar blue eyes blinking open in response to his voice. Relief punched him in the gut. Screw what the doctor had said - she didn't know Mac.

"Hey," he said again, smiling as Mac's eyes fixed on him. He could feel Riley and Bozer clustering close beside him, but he was entirely focused on his partner. "I see you agreed with me about the beauty sleep; that's good. You should agree with me about more things, like not taking handcuffs off of murdery lunatics."

Mac just blinked at him, eyes clouded with something that poked a sickening hole in the sudden swell of Jack's relief. The young man frowned up at him, as if searching for something. But then Mac's brow smoothed, the relief of recognition relaxing his features.

"Dad," he murmured, eyelids drooping again. "You came back."


End file.
